Ad Vitam Aeternam
by Seranio
Summary: In which Alois Trancy explores his curiosities. Namely, how far the master-servant relationship can be pushed, and just how much he's able to garner from it. Claude/Alois, Alois' point of view. Rated T for now for language and varying levels of gore, M rating likely later on. **Trying to update, edit coming soon!
1. Somnium

**So, this is a... hardcore filler. Type thing. I don't know. c: **

**Just something random to kick it off, plus this particular part has been in my head for a long while. But Alois = Lauv. And I didn't take too kindly to how Claude was to him towards the end. So, I'm going to give a take of my own in which the Spider starts seeing the worthiness, if you will, of his Young Master's soul. Alois's point of view, eventual Claude/Alois (that's two boys, you know. don't you even give me hate comments about this when i've stated it beforehand. don't 'choo go there, sister), gore ranging from light to heavy, probable reoccurring use of bad language thanks to Alois Trancy.**

**Kuroshitsuji isn't mine, reviewing with criticism, compliments, and/or suggestions is loved.**

I know none of these faces. None of them. I watch them, breaking smiles and laughs and jokes. These people don't know me, nor do I them. "Nonsense, Young Master." But I know that voice. She's beside me suddenly, as if she'd appeared from thin air. I smirk at her arrival. "Nonsense, Hannah?" My lips move for more but she's beaten me to it. "All is for you. They look only to you."

I don't like how she's talking to me. She's not cringing, not even frowning, but smiling pleasantly like the stupid maid she is. I want to strike her. But again, she's oddly fast, and we're dancing now. Spinning and whirling, everything but her before me is a blur and I want to get away. I don't want her touching me this way, much less at all. We weave through the people dancing about us that talk in muddled mutters. Then I hear her. She's mumbling, whispering, her eyes closed. "For you, for you, for you,"

Then, just as the music is reaching its crescendo and the people are twirling faster, I feel something drip onto my cheek. It slides down sluggishly, and I lift my head. Rain? No. So I look to Hannah for answers, something to make her useful (or, rather, entertaining, seeing as how she probably wouldn't know), and I see the cause of the drip. Red is streaming from both her eyes, the corner of her glossed periwinkle lips. It stains the bandage she has over her eye; the mark I had given her. The smile is still on her face, we spin round and round.

The sticky red is flowing steadily to the music, catching up and increasing in amount the higher the notes travel. Her entire tanned chin is covered in red as blood all but floods passed her teeth, dying the periwinkle an odd shade. Blood comes from her nose and ears as well now, and her face and neck are nothing but a red mess as it flows down to blossom on her dress.

Slowly, I smile myself, and then she releases me and crumples. I catch glimpses of her, bleeding out profusely, as I spin on my toes with one hand raised without guidance.

Now that I'm looking, everyone has become a fountain of red. No one stands now but me. I feel eyes on me everywhere, the mumbling is gone, the music is back to a normal pace. My shoes are now tracing a temporary part in the pools of blood, and I'm still spinning. Then -

_One, two, three. One, two, three.  
_

Someone's got a hold on me, odd textured fingers lacing through my hand in the air. It's slowly brought down a little, and my feet move again in a different pattern. I look up, seeing all but black until I reach yellow. Yellow gleaming through simple wire frames.

"_Claude._"

"Dance, Your Highness. They're watching. All watching."

I look at him, unsure. And gradually, another crazed grin slips onto my lips. That's right. You have eyes only for me.

Spinning, stepping, stepping again followed by another spin and a gliding motion. We could be this way forever, you and I. If it is what I wish. Do you hear this music around us? It's so boring. I don't like repetition. But our feet are moving differently. I find myself focusing on them, and not the notes, but also on how Hannah's blood is not all over me.

"For you, Your Highness, for you, Your Highness, for you, Your Highness.."

"_I need for you to wake up, Your Highness."_

My eyes open quickly, and they instantly flick over to the source of the voice. Claude stands there, face as blank as ever as he holds my clothes for the day draped over one arm. Hannah is there as well, though she is heading for the door. Blinking once, my vision hazing momentarily, I sit up lazily and stretch wide like a cat. "Hannah, Hannah~." My voice draws out the last syllables. I'm grinning again, remembering the dream.

"Young Master?" she says, pausing before turning to face me. "I had a dream, and you were in it." I say simply, peeling myself from the mattress with ease and ignoring Claude as I see him reach momentarily to undress me. I walk right past him, until I'm inches from Hannah's sun kissed face. "I would like to tell you a secret." She frowns, lips in a tight line and she leans down to put her ear just by my mouth.

Even so, I push myself up onto my toes, and I whisper silkily and smirk with one of my hands tangled in the bosom of her dress, "You bled so much, Hannah. You bled for me, spilled your filthy blood and made a mess. How shameful, you wench." Then, laughing, I pull away and put a finger to my lips with a soft hushing noise, laughing more at her face. She looks at me bitterly, though blank still, and turns and leaves slowly after I shove her away by my grasp on the clothing.

"Serves you right, Hannah. Your ability to dance, much like your appearance, is pitiable."

Spinning on a heel, I waltz back to my black-clad butler, humming the music that played in my dream. I stop before him, still humming the tune as he turns to finally unbutton the solid white nightgown. Then I stop, just as fast. My Cheshire smile fades and I watch him with narrowed eyes. "You were in my dream as well, Claude. We danced for them, for all those people letting us twirl about in their blood. You told me they all had eyes just for me."

Claude says nothing, and I am not really disappointed until moments later when he's already buttoning up the vest of my attire. I frown, then look at him pointedly. "Well? Did you mean it?" He takes his sweet time answering, and I feel myself scathing inwardly at him until he glances up at me, adjusts his glasses, and speaks. "It was your dream, Young Master. They had eyes only for you." he confirms, voice still a monotone but I am pleased, none the less.

..No. I wanted more.

"What about _your_ eyes?" I purr abruptly, and allow him to sit me back down on the bed to pull on my stockings. My fingers trail along his cheek, and I raise a brow as I bring my other hand over as well to lift his face so his gaze lingers on me. Such a hard gaze, full of emotion yet not. "Are your eyes mine, Claude?" His fingers continue to work on pulling on my shoe now despite him not looking; the routine is simple by now. "I am to give my master whatever he wishes until the time comes for me to get what I wish."

I tilt my head and laugh, thumbs skimming just behind the frames of his glasses now. "Your eyes are for me and me alone, Claude. Is this understood, you dog?" Like clockwork, his head bows and a hand goes over his heart.

"Yes, Your Highness."


	2. Semper Fidelis

**Murr. Warm weather is nice, getting colds is not. But I managed to pull something else together (excuse the rambling towards the beginning, please =m =;), since I think I might actually stick with this idea.  
;v ; Oh, jee~ Thanks to AffableKiwi for the review - I was so paranoid about writing in his POV. XD" It's amazing to have you be the first to review me as well; I love your fanfiction. c:  
**

**Kuroshitsuji still isn't mine, ectectect. **

I can tell you with every bit of honesty that at times, there is simply nothing more boring than murder.

When things first started to change, when the Queen starting giving letters to me and a mentioned Guard Dog, murder became an interest of mine. Each message was filled with photos, detailed descriptions of the end of someone's life. And every time - it got more and more mesmerizing. The crimes were so graphic, so complex, so _cruel_. I found myself unable to wait for Her Majesty's letters.

I wanted to have more of these descriptions in my hands, and faster. The obituaries seemed like a fine place to start, and I began receiving large varieties of newspapers. I was waiting to read something as fascinating as Jack the Ripper or some other picky killer, but it never came. The only deaths portrayed in the newspapers were simple, for the most part. Shot. Stabbed. Strangled. But in no particular, reoccurring fashion.

It was to be expected though. The Queen wouldn't send two people and two alone letters of crimes unless they were truly difficult and, in a way, flawless. But the deaths printed every day compared to the ones written only for me and the Dog were unworldly. Too normal and common and boring to be real.

So easy it is to kill someone, I think, and laugh with a morbid contentment. I wonder if I find it funny because I have Claude beside me, willing to strike with, or even without, my simple command.

With Claude there, death seemed to exist to everyone in the world but me. I am absolutely indestructible.

"And you're here to protect me, aren't you?"

"Until the time comes, Your Highness."

Those were some of the first words I ever spoke to Claude. Even today, those words ring true, and I believe in them with everything I have despite his reply is considered more than contradictory. But even then, when the time _does _come, I've never once thought he wouldn't be by my side in any different way. Not out of spite or pity or obligation, but because, somewhere behind that black suit, the powerful chest, beats what I think to be the heart of a demon.

A heart that feels nothing but greed. I know what he wants, and I'd give it to him wrapped in a pretty little box with glitter and satin bows. But I think, I feel, there's something laced through the greed. Something like the bow on the gift he's reserved from me. A connection. A need, not a want.

Something... _affectionate_.

The word tingles on my tongue, in my brain, like hard candy, yet possesses the ability to make me bleed when it dissolves slightly and cracks are formed. Then it becomes like glass. Glass that tastes good enough that I'm willing to swallow more.

It was the one thing I'd ever wanted, got, lost, been abused by, lost again, and now demanded. The triplets, Hannah, they don't care. Or maybe they do, and I don't. But I don't want them, don't need them - Claude gives me this feeling, buried deep inside his demon heart.

And now, when a dream pushes me underwater and drowns me, leaves me thrashing and emitting garbled noises that are actually screams, I finally murmur it, whether in my sleep or not. "H-Hoheo taralna.. ro-on.. tar.."

But it's enough.

Something grabs me, firmly and not, on the shoulder. I jolt up in seconds, fingers swiping across something smooth and indescribably cold before I freeze. Very slowly, three, angry pink marks appear on an otherwise perfect face, shadowed oddly by the flickering light of candles.

I'm not aware I've got tears flooding down my face, nor that the blanket is not even on the bed anymore from my tantrum. All I know is that I'm no longer trembling, and the actually short silence between us lasts quite a while. But it suddenly hits me; I know what he's waiting for. Considering this has happened numerous times before, I just nod numbly and scoot myself over.

"Please close your eyes, Young Master," he says, and I listen. One of the few times I let him order me, rather than vice versa. It's because he's putting the light out, and knows it won't help him or me if I'm not ready and I suddenly can't see anything. I'm now noticing how cold I am, and I bring my knees to my chest and wait.

The sheets are straightened awkwardly beneath me, the pillows adjusted, the blankets slid back over my frame. A gloved hand, almost hesitantly, reaches my hair, sifting through the blonde locks slowly. I remember doing this to my dear little brother on the hardest nights, and he'd fall asleep so quickly it almost worried me. It applied to me normally, as I had told Claude to do this if I were unable to sleep, but it felt odd tonight. My mind seemed too full. Full of.. full of something.

"Claude." I say, and the fingers keep moving but I feel his amber gaze now. "Take your glove off." At once, the touch moves away and I roll over to face him, though I'm still not looking because I hate what happens when I open my eyes in the dark. Or, rather, what doesn't happen. There's no difference, and I suddenly feel defenseless and alone.

I hear the sound of fabric slide off his skin, and I reach my own hand out tentatively before childishly whispering, "Gimme it." He complies, and I know what face he's making right now as I take his notably colder hand into mine. Not confused or happy, but empty, eyes saying what the body did not. He hadn't expected this of me, yet he had.

I run my fingers over the wrist first, what feels like bone, then down to trace over where I think I'd see veins. The creases of his palm, how soft they are, surprises me a little. My thumb runs over his, over the smooth nail I know is pitch black like the bedroom. I think back to what I asked before.

"Your eyes are mine, Claude. But I want these as well. These hands serve only me. ..Okay?" My voice is so soft, practically raw. He's the only one allowed to see me this way. "Whatever you wish, Your Highness." he replies, and for a moment I want to look at him. But it seems like too much, and I shift onto my back.

The whole night, I feel his hand in mine, until I'm asleep and unable to feel him pull away and go back to his room.

All that comes to my mind during that time is either nothing or Claude's words, his eyes, his hands. The complexity I find in the heart, beating for greed and what I think is _me_, and not in the pointless blood shed in the newsprint.

**And this one is all over the place :/**

**But it was all my mind could process to move along, aaand.. a bunch of other assorted excuses, take your pick. (8 Again, criticism and compliments and such are fabulous, as well as a beta? I try to not overlook things, but.. hmm. Yes. 3 will be up.. sometime soon, maybe? Working on it.  
**


End file.
